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Colin wakes up to warm, slippery touch on his left cheek. He peers his eyes open and notices—first and foremost—that he is not in their house in the city, but rather at the Aubrey Hall. That is more than weird, since he is pretty sure that the last time he was aware of his circumstances he was lying left side up at the very bottom of the grand staircase, not on the fairly comfortable loveseat in one of the drawing rooms that is Eloise’s favourite.
He turns around with a sigh and is graced with a sight of a toddler—a child that looks to be around three years of age—that he has no recollection of. It’s a girl, and she has a very pale skin and a shock of red hair on top of her head.
Colin blinks at her, and she blinks at him before her lips split into a large grin, “Uncle Colin!”
Colin’s brows furrow even more and despite his confusion, he tries his very best to smile back at her, “Hello,” he replies and wonders—no, it cannot be Daphne’s child. Hers is a son, first of all, and he is way smaller than this and looks like the carbon copy of Simon so that rules the possibility completely out. Come to think, as he takes a second glance at the toddler, she looks a bit like—
“There you are, darling,” Benedict’s voice calls out from the door. “I was looking for you everywhere. Even mama was worried.”
Benedict. The child looks like a smaller version of Benedict—good God, since when Benedict has a child? And—more importantly—the word mama. Who in their right mind married the man?
Colin squints at the familiar way in which Benedict lifts the girl up and settles her on his hip before humming out, “You were sleeping?”
He nods, shell-shocked, “I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Well,” Colin begins and shakes his head—he can’t very well tell his brother that he doesn’t remember him having a child or anything of a similar matter, that he doesn’t even remember being in Aubrey Hall in the first place. They would think him crazy, “Yes—I took a nap.”
Benedict eyes him, “Are you feeling alright?” He inquires, “You look very pale.”
Colin nods and moves to stand up—his body feels stiff and heavy, out of sudden, and surprisingly tired, “It’s nothing.”
His brother adjust the child higher on his hip and cocks his head to the side, “If you say so,” he says. “Good thing Agatha found you, we are about to eat outside—mother wanted to talk with you about something.”
“Did she precise what is that she wants?”
Benedict snorts, “No,” he replies. “But I’d bet on another name on the never-ending list of women fit for marriage,” he chuckles and tickles the child—Agatha—on the foot, “Good thing I have this behind me already.”
Behind you? Colin thinks but obviously doesn’t say it out loud, The last time I checked not even Anthony was married. “She needs something to do, I suppose.”
He ponders over his current circumstances and out of the corner of his eyes, observes the Aubrey Hall. It looks the same, and yet changed—way more homely than the last time he had seen it.
Benedict leads them outside and settles Agatha down on the terrace so she can run wildly to wherever direction she pleases. She looks around a bit, before shrieking a loud mama! And running towards a group of women—amongst which, he notes, is a similar mop of red hair.
Wait, he furrows his brows as he observes Penelope Featherington—who, from what he remembers last, is unmarried and childless—turn around and smile at running Agatha. Wait, wait, wait—
“What is Penelope doing here?” It slips out of his mouth before he can help it—it is just so bizarre of an image that he cannot stop himself from asking.
Benedict whips around in instant, and the smile he had on his face—the one of a pleased and proud parent—slips from his face immediately, “What do you mean?”
“Uh—“ Colin opens his mouth but nothing comes, “I—did Eloise invite her?”
“Why would she need an invitation from Eloise, of all people?” Benedict raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer towards Colin, “Colin—Penelope is my wife, she doesn’t need to be invited to the family house.”
Colin can pinpoint the exact moment his heart stops and his knees buckle, “What?” He utters as he moves his eyes back and forth between Benedict, Penelope and Agatha. Agatha, who is apparently a child his brother has with Penelope.
He cannot move past his disbelief.
Benedict settles his hand under Colin’s armpit and walks him towards a chair in which he can sit, “Are you sure you are feeling alright?”
“Never better,” Colin croaks and settles himself down, “Never better, brother—I just—I need a moment.”
Colin’s glances past Benedict’s shoulder to observe Penelope. She picks the girl up with the same precise movement Benedict did earlier, smiling softly at the blabbering child before lifting her stare up to look for someone—his brother, probably. When her eyes finally find what she is searching for, her smile turns almost blinding.
Benedict chooses this moment to turn around and wave at her in greeting and suddenly Colin’s insides twist and he feels sick—more than sick. He feels devastated, destroyed almost, at the sight of that simple, most natural interaction between two married people.
Married, he blinks again and again, married—in what world is Benedict married to Penelope, and why would she even accept an old rake like him?
Questions swirl around in his head and multiply with every passing second—the why’s, when’s and what’s swarm his vision so badly that he is one step from telling Benedict that he is indeed feeling poorly and that he wishes to retire to his room and never go outside ever again.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have to think for much longer since his mother spots him and calls him over to discuss what he supposes must be possible matches. Possible matches—for him. What a ghastly prospect, and it’s as if he wanted anyone other than—
—than who? Penelope? Another rather ghastly prospect. And it’s not as if he has any chance anyway, since she is all but married to Benedict and they have a child together. And for Christ’s sake, it’s not as if any of this is real, anyway. He just hit his head a bit too hard.
As he walks through the gardens towards his mother, he ponders—what if his previous life, the one where the accident happened, is the one his mind made up? Maybe it was all but a dream, and this—whatever it is—is the reality he must live in.
Good God—what if it really is the reality he must live in.
He looks around the yard and notices various children of varying ages, children that probably belong to his siblings, as well as numerous other people he does not recognize. Only Agatha has ginger hair, so Colin supposes Benedict and Penelope have only one child. Good.
Maybe their marriage is not going so well—despite the fond tone of Benedict’s voice when he spoke of Penelope or Penelope’s sweet glances—maybe they are not so well-matched. Maybe.
Colin moves to stand beside his mother and gives her a smile, “Benedict told me you need something from me—”
*
He spends the rest of the afternoon in a daze of sorts—a daze that kind of resembles agony—and tries his very best to remain composed. Everything is just so natural yet so out of order: Colin expected his siblings to get married, yes. The gaggle of little children that belong to them running around is also something he thought that would happen sometime in the future.
Sometime in the future. Not now—not in this strange dream or reality.
And what bothers him most of all is—unsurprisingly— Benedict’s marriage to Penelope. It’s so comical of a concept, the two of them together. What did they even bond over? What do they talk about?
For a second he wonders whether it was out of pity or convenience on Benedict’s side—Penelope has always been interwoven into their lives anyways, and it’s not like she had a long queue of suitors waiting during the season. He wouldn’t have to bother with long courtship or love charades, and her character is more than pleasant. A match based on a comfortable friendship and sense of companionship.
But then he shakes his head—Penelope deserves better than Colin even thinking like that. And if anyone was doing someone a favour, it would be her to Benedict.
And well—they do not look like they are friends, per se. They look like a proper married couple with their private kisses and soft touches and the more he stares at them—and he stares at them quite frequently, so frequently that it must be bordering on weird—the less he understands why the universe threw this on him.
He had to endure seeing them for the entire day. For the entire bloody day, Colin observed the way they communicated with each other, sometimes with eyes only, the way they acted played with Agatha and acted as if she were their whole world. He saw the way they looked so carefree and happy together and wondered.
Is this a punishment, for him? To see the two of them together with their child and yearn for things he wouldn’t even dream of yearning, before? But then again—seeing Daphne and Simon together never awoke anything like this within him, neither did his brief stint with Marina. So is it their dynamic—or is it just Penelope that he wants?
Colin casts her another glance at the dinner table they are all sitting at—her between Benedict and Eloise, and him on the other side sandwiched between Anthony and their mother. Kate is saying one thing or the other, and Daphne brings bits and pieces to the conversation but besides that, it is fairly quiet.
He knows that Penelope has noticed his staring, but he doesn’t even bother to stop. She looks exceptionally pretty surrounded by dimmed lights, in a light green dress and hair done into a simple bun that shows her whole face. She has matured, Colin notes, in that hallucination of his, and he wonders whether or no he looks the same as he does in the world he believes is real.
Benedict looks at him with a puzzled expression as well, but say nothing—yet. Colin knows it’s just a matter of time before his older brother takes him aside to once again ask what is going on with him, today.
Colin takes a sip out of his wine glass and averts his eyes. The alcohol has made him slightly bolder than usual—and it’s not like this all is real so he might as well loosen up a bit. He turns towards his mother and uses the moment when the table is fairly loud to whisper out of blue, “Why did you even agree to this?”
Violet furrows her brows, “To what?”
He makes a vague gesture towards the place where Benedict and Penelope sit, “To them—being together. It makes no sense.”
Suddenly—the table quietens and Colin feels all of the present eyes on him. Good. It’s not like he cares, “Nobody sees nothing wrong, here?”
Before their mother has the time to reply to his accusations, he hears the loud sound of Benedict’s chair scraping on the floor. His brother walks around the table with a pinched smile on his face and settles his hand on Colin’s shoulder, “Colin must not be feeling well, mother—hasn’t been since the afternoon, but he refuses to acknowledge that,” the grip tightens a bit and Colin feels like he is once again eight years old, getting scolded for something his brothers had done. “I will take him upstairs.”
“I am feeling perfectly fine—“
“—we are going upstairs.”
Benedict all but hauls him up, but Colin has the slightest size advantage here and refuses to budge—that is, until he meets Penelope’s eyes again and she urges him not to make a scene of any sorts.
He nods to himself and allows Benedict to lead him to his room on the first floor. They walk in tense silence, shoulder to shoulder, and Colin avoids looking at his brother with all that he has. Benedict makes him go inside first, and closes the door with a loud bang.
Colin settles himself down on the edge of his bed and lifts his head to stare into the distance. After another hot minute of stillness, Benedict opens his mouth and starts, “What is the matter with you today?”
He swallows and shakes his head, “Nothing.”
“Like hell it’s nothing,” Benedict argues and steps closer. “You’ve been weird all day, and you’ve been staring at everyone—especially Penelope—like we all grew second heads when you weren’t looking,” he takes Colin’s chin into his hand and forces him to make eye contact, “And then those comments at dinner—Colin, I will not ask again.”
He ducks away from Benedict and swallows, “It’s just—“ he begins, “How could you?” Colin doesn’t add the do this to me that sits heavily on his tongue, but the message is still more than clear.
“Do what, exactly?”
Colin stands up again, and his vision fizzles a bit—he doesn’t know whether from the anger he feels or from the alcohol he consumed, “Marry Penelope—how could you?”
Benedict looks at him with a proper mix of confusion and annoyance, “What do you mean—how could I?” He says, exasperated, “We married each other because we love each other, it’s as simple as that—and from where is this coming from, anyway? It’s not like we got married yesterday.”
“For God’s sake she doesn’t love you!” Colin immediately replies, ignoring everything else that Benedict said, “Penelope doesn’t love you because she—“
“She what?” Benedict interrupts, “Loves you instead? Rest assured, brother—whatever feelings she had for you disappeared the moment she read in that Whistledown’s paper that you deem her below average and unworthy of courting!”
He shakes his head, “That’s not true,” he answers and then it hits him—it is true. He said those words, and then read them over and over in the fine print until guilt began to swirl around his stomach, “I never meant those words.”
“Yet you still said them,” Benedict glances at him in a very Benedict-unlike manner, “You know that she told me that she used to re-read that paper so often she started to believe those words?” His brother turns around, “Be glad that she has found it in her to forgive you.”
“I—“ Colin takes a leap around the room, “No—it’s not supposed to be like that. I need to talk to Penelope—“
“—no you don’t,” Benedict catches him by the arm but Colin gets away and exits the bedroom in haste, "Colin!"
He doesn’t bother to stop at Benedict’s nagging and turns towards the staircase. His vision is blurry at best, and before he manages to go down he hears a distinct, “Colin!” And, unsurprisingly, slips on the very last step.
*
When Colin wakes up, again, he takes a very deep breath and grunts loudly enough to alert about everybody in the room. He opens his eyes and the first thing he sees are the worried faces of Benedict and Eloise—as well as the tapestry of their home in the city.
He feels tears welling up in the corner of his eyes and he is unable to tell if it’s because his head hurts so much or because it was all a dream. It seems that Penelope is not married to Benedict, a decade or so has not passed and—and he has so many things to do and so many apologies to make. Colin tries to turn around and stand up but that is not about to happen.
“Colin?” Benedict’s voice echoes somewhere over him, “No—don’t sit up,” his brother instructs and were he not so relieved he would’ve punched him straight away, “Anthony has gone to fetch the doctor, you need to stay still.”
Colin shakes his head slowly and mumbles, “No—no,” he swallows. The images of Penelope and Benedict and Agatha—Agatha, who had his brother’s face and his friend's red hair—swarm his vision and refuse to disappear, “I need to—I need to talk to Penelope.”
He can see that both Benedict and Eloise exchange glances, “And you will, just later—“
“You don’t understand,” Colin croaks, “I need to apologize to her—“
“—you won’t get very far with the state of you head, brother,” Eloise interjects, “Calm down—I will fetch her once you are fixed up.”
Tears fall from his eyes, “God—no, she deserves better than to be fetched by you,” he explains and wonders how pathetic he must look, “God—my head is killing me,” he says, “And I need to punch Benedict—“
Were he feeling better, he would’ve laughed at the expression his brother makes, “I’m not sure why I deserve this but for now—stay bloody still,” he instructs, “You will be no use to Penelope if you die because of cracked skull.”
Eloise wipes his eyes carefully, “Benedict is right,” she assures, “Penelope is not going anywhere, but you might—and you might not come back, so you better not move.”
Colin licks his lips—well, if going anywhere would mean living in the reality he just visited, he might take the advice, “Alright—alright,” he agrees and tries his hardest to remain conscious.
Anything is better than what he just went through.